


I’ve Earned the Right to be Selfish

by SiederTreeStudios



Series: Minecraft Youtubers because I’m sad [2]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Dream Smp, Dream Team SMP Spoilers, Emotional Hurt, Fox Hybrid Floris | Fundy, Gen, Hybrid Alexis | Quackity, Mentioned Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Not Canon Compliant, Not the author relating to literally everyone in some way, Panic Attacks, Piglin Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Post-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), haha angst goes brrrrr, jealous fundy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27790159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiederTreeStudios/pseuds/SiederTreeStudios
Summary: “He could count on his finger the people who hadn’t betrayed him yet. He had shed blood, his own and others, for this country. They said themselves that Gogy (the other bastard, can’t even show up for a war) had been at fault for all of this. So why did they get angry at him?”AKA, an alternate and more slow burn take on Tommy’s exile and the days leading up to it.SPOILERS FOR ALL THE STREAMS THUS FAR PRETTY MUCHTW for thoughts of self harm and for panic attacks
Relationships: ALL PLATONIC, Alexis | Quackity & TommyInnit, Floris | Fundy & Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Ranboo & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF) & Everyone, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, don’t be nasty
Series: Minecraft Youtubers because I’m sad [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019911
Comments: 103
Kudos: 728





	1. The Pain They Caused Outweighs the Pain I did

**Author's Note:**

> Me projecting a bit? Haha that’s funny joke...
> 
> ...yeah. But uh, here’s another angsty fic for y’all. Enjoy.

Tommy stormed down the prime path, practically seething.

He was on probation. _Probation_! _Him_! _Tommyinnit_! He had to write everything he did down and give it to _Fundy_ , of all people, who do you take him for?! He could only glare at the wooden planks beneath his feet as he resisted the urge to punch something, or someone.

What was worse though was that Tubbo didn’t get it. Tommy needed his discs! He wasn’t complete without them, they were the last thing he needed back. Those discs meant the world to him, they helped him through so much, Dream couldn’t just take them! Worst of all, Dream wanted a disc if Tommy didn’t get a worse punishment, and it took both Fundy and Quackity to keep him from jumping the man. 

Tubbo gave him a look sharp enough to cut obsidian, then turned back to the discussion with the green bastard.

...he wasn’t sure if he liked President Tubbo.

Tubbo was so focused on stuff now, he never had time to do anything fun! He was always planning and attending meetings and being all stuffy, but the way he looked at Tommy that day made him stop in his tracks. It was all to familiar to Wilbur in the 1st war, back when he was a general.

Tommy reached his house, flopping down in his bed. He groaned, taking out the stupid book and writing: _Went home. Thought about you being a bitch earlier. Slept._

Ok, maybe he was stretching the truth there a little, but he’d rather pretend he was just angry than spill his guts in that stupid book.

He heard whispers as he came home. He was a big man, it wasn’t supposed to hurt him! Some stupid civilians whispering about him being selfish and a loose cannon shouldn’t even graze his ego.

Why didn’t they get it? He had already given everything to L’manburg. Throwing the book to the wall, he curled in on himself, the warmth of the blankets all he had at that moment. Tears pooled at his eyes, but he hastily rubbed his eyes. He wasn’t going to cry over this, that would be stupid, and childish, and Tommy was not a child nor stupid.

He could count on his finger the people who hadn’t betrayed him yet. He had shed blood, his own and others, for this country. They said themselves that Gogy (the other bastard, can’t even show up for a war) had been at fault for all of this. So why did they get angry at him?

He knew it wasn’t right. But he had it coming, right? The guilt swirling in his stomach only increased, causing a lump in his throat to grow. He almost wanted to take a knife to it and cut the lump out, cut the swirl of guilt, cut away the pain like it was a simple enemy, rather than himself. He flinched at that intrusive thought. He was beginning to sound like Wilbur.

God, why was it so difficult? It wasn’t fair! 

Dream got away with all that stuff on the daily! Why was he being punished if Dream wasn’t? Power hungry, manipulative _asshole_!

The anger felt better than the pain. Anger was familiar, anger was useful. Pain wasn’t, pain didn’t help him stab shit. Pain wasn’t helpful when he was trying to give his case and Tubbo told him to shut up (even if he was yelling over everyone,) pain wasn’t helpful when he was trying to stop the withers from killing who was left in L’manburg, pain wasn’t helpful when his brothers turned on him, pain wasn’t helpful when he was trying so hard and no one would listen-

-his breath was coming up short. The warm blankets suddenly felt constrictive, so he threw them off, drawing himself to the corner of the room, shaky gasps coming up too quickly. Time passed quickly and slowly, his hands grabbing fistfuls of dirty blonde hair, barely registering the pain. No one was there anymore. He had given up everything, but no one’s was there.

No one gets it. They all screamed at him, asking if he did it, demanding if he was guilty, telling him he didn’t think about the consequences, telling him he doesn’t care about L’manburg. He just wanted to be able to put L’manburg on the back burner for one second so he could get the thing that calmed him, that helped him where others couldn’t, the soft melodies filling the gaps of missing brothers and fathers, of caring people and warm smiles. 

His breathing calmed as he thought of the melodies of Mellohi and Cat filling the air, the laugh of Tubbo and Wilbur’s big grin, Philza’s wings brushing his shoulder, and Techno’s monotone voice whispering, “love ya Toms,” when he thought he couldn’t hear.

He drew out of his curled up position, the guilt simmering down to a meer twinge in his heart. He thought again about running away, painfully aware that he couldn’t bring Tubbo if he decided to. He thought about finding a new place, with new people, far far away from L’manburg and everyone else. He thought about getting a new cow, Henry Jr. would be a cool name. 

L’manburg might’ve been free, but he never felt more caged here, not since Wilbur lost it. Not since everything got complicated.

Retrieving the blankets, Tommy laid down again, staring at the wall with drooping eyes.

He knew one thing for sure: he had earned the right to be selfish.


	2. The Catalyst to The Thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ Yep, this is a series now. Let’s see if I actually finish it :,) ]
> 
> Tommy just wants a quiet day. Just a simple hunting trip. Turns out, simple is hard to obtain, even when you’re minding your own business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This is a bit more projecting from me pog)
> 
> You all wanted a running away part? OHOHOH, YOU’VE GIVEN ME TOO MUCH POWER NOW!!
> 
> Anyways, I just wanna clarify that if any creators express discomfort with these fics, they will be taken down.

The morning sunlight streamed through his windows, providing a peaceful atmosphere. Tommy sat up on his bed, drawing up one of his legs to rest his arm on, content exactly where he was. Despite Tommy’s trouble-making demeanor, his house emulated a certain calmness, something he needed. He knew the moment he stepped out the door, the scrutiny and hate would begin again, the demands and the harsh glares would be thrown his way. Home provided security, calm in the shitstorm that had become his life.

He found himself mulling over Techno’s words. Theseus, innit? The one his brother (could he even call him that anymore) was comparing him to? The comparison didn’t make sense to him then, but it was starting to look similar now. Threats of exile flooded his mind again, and he pushed them away, instead focusing on waking up fully.

Taking out the stupid book he was required to write in, he scribbled half heartedly: woke up at none of your fuckin’ business o’clock. Cooked food. Wondered how to stab someone politely enough for Tubbo to let me get away with it.

Setting the book aside, he busied himself with cooking. He had to learn himself to be independent, so cooking was a skill he was alright at, if he did say so himself. Taking a bite of a carrot from his garden, he checked on his remaining discs (a habit he developed from the war, could never be to careful,) sighing in relief when he saw them sitting in his ender chest, the sunlight glinting off of the vinyl. Shutting the chest, Tommy brain stormed what to do that day. He figured he’d stay in for a bit, but he was running low on food... sighing, he prepared for some good old fashioned hunting. He almost longed for the moments when he and Phil first went out hunting, back when he was a little kid, the grin on his face when he managed to catch a chicken. He wished badly for that moment again, the grin on Phil’s face when he showed off his catch, a big hand ruffling his fluffy blonde hair. He shook off that thought. He and Phil hadn’t... talked much recently. He hadn’t really talked to anyone, really. Except Tubbo and Ranboo.

He couldn’t talk to them now.

Grabbing his bow (he remembered how excited he was when he finally got the right enchants on it, showing it off to Tubbo,) he stepped out of the house, leaving everything else. He’d write what he did in the damn book later, he wanted to get away for a bit, it was all getting a bit suffocating.

He was glad he was an early riser. Few people were out and about, meaning fewer glares and fewer whispers. He made a bee-line out of the borders of the main part of Dreams (and everyone else’s) land, the forestry providing comfort.

Hunting wasn’t complicated, at least not mentally. Hunting was simple, black and white, easy to understand. Tommy hadn’t realized how desperately he needed that: simplicity was a rarity nowadays, there was always questioning who’s side you were on, what you were behind and not, how morally bankrupt you are, it was exhausting. Hunting was just trying to find food, plain and simple. Nothing to really question, no sides, just life existing.

He spotted a sheep, grazing on grass. Drawing his bow out quietly, he notched an arrow, keeping it trained on the animal. He could one-shot it if he hit just right-

“You’re out here awfully early.” A monotone voice says.

-startled, he misfires, the arrow hitting an oak tree. The sheep, with a startled bleat, runs, causing Tommy to let out a disappointed sigh. He turned to his brother (again, can he even be called that anymore?) who he hadn’t seen since the destruction of L’manburg. He hadn’t changed much really, only having a few more stains on his stupid royal gown he insisted on wearing (what’s the deal with that anyways.) He had his crossbow lazily swung over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at Tommy. 

“You’re quiet today.” He said bluntly.

Tommy couldn’t hold back a glare at that. “What’s it to you, pal. Last I checked, you were missing.”

Techno only shrugged, sitting down where Tommy was kneeling. Tommy followed suit, sitting down from his previously poised position. Techno was observing him, he knew, but he kept his eyes to the bow in his hand, brushing it over as if it had magically gained dust while he wasn’t looking.

“I heard about what happened.” _What you did_ , that part was silently conveyed. Tommy continued to avert his gaze in favor of looking at his bow.

“No need to rub it in. I get it, you were right, your dumbass villain speech was great, good on you, now can you leave-” He said after the silence began to stretch, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice.

“You can come with me, if you need to. If it comes down to that.” Again, the word _exile_ went unsaid. The pressure reached a boiling point.

Tommy couldn’t take it anymore, standing abruptly and yelling, “Would you just stop it?!”

Techno looked slightly confused, standing as well. “What do you mean-”

“Stop treating me like I’m still something you have to _protect_ , or _help_! You’ve done a real shit job of it you know! You straight up ignored me for the majority of my time here, you encouraged Wilbur’s self-destructive tendencies, and you ended up destroying the nation and trying to kill me! I mean come on, you said it yourself. _You wanna be a hero, than die like one_! Your words! Just-“ Tommy paused, letting out a breath of harsh air. He couldn’t see Techno’s eyes behind the pig mask, but the older man was fidgeting like he wanted to do something, say something. 

“-ugh! Just leave me alone! I just want to be left alone!” He said in frustration, storming away, deeper into the forest, away from his anarchist brother.

He didn’t stop until he was deep in the forest, another tired and frustrated sigh escaping him. This he was so tired of this, he missed Techno but could stand to be around him, another not simple thing to deal with. He just wanted to be alone! He just wanted simplicity! Growling and continuing to stomp off, he remained unaware of a man in a porcelain mask watching him from above the trees, a small smile gracing his face as he watched what he considered his puppets getting tied up in string.

** ———[Line Break]——— **

Darkness had fallen by the time Tommy ventured back into the main area of the SMP, his inventory fully stocked with food. He had no more unexpected encounters in the woods (thank god, that shit was annoying,) leaving him to focus on the task at hand. Walking back in his house, Tommy stored the various meats so they wouldn’t go bad, and put away his bow, only to receive 3 loud knocks on the door.

Tommy tilted his head slightly, raising an eyebrow. He wasn’t expecting any company today (not like anyone wanted to hang out with him anyways.)

He put his bow down on the table, walking to the door and throwing it open, to find a frazzled and frustrated Tubbo on the other end, Quackity and Fundy not far behind.

“Tubbo? What’s wro-“

“What the hell Tommy?! Why weren’t you at the meeting today!” Tubbo said, anger spilling into his usually kind voice. “You didn’t report in for probation, you didn’t show up to the meeting, we had to go around to trying to find you only to realized you’d ran off to the forest, we had to get _Dream_ to track you-“

“Woah woah, slow down. What meeting? And I was about to write down what I did today and give it to you, what the hell man?!” Tommy said, earning an annoyed glare from Fundy.

“Oh my god- the meeting to discuss trade relations Tommy! Between L’Manburg and the Badlands! You were supposed to be there, helping us! But _no_ , you just had to _run off_. Honestly man, I can’t do this anymore! You have a job to do, people rely on you!” Tubbo said, Quackity making a noise of agreement.

“Look, I didn’t know there was a meeting today, I was busy-“

“ _With_. _What_. _Tommy_. Because you’ve told us nothing! You’re out here lying, telling us nothing, causing trouble, it’s too much man! You couldn’t even show up for your mandatory probation update _which is keeping you in the country_ , to tell us what you’ve been so busy with!” Tubbo exclaimed, causing Tommy to flinch back against his will, reminded all to well of the way Wilbur talked to him during one of his mad rants.

“I-“ Tommy began, only to be cut off by Fundy.

“Just save it. Give me the damn book tomorrow, Let’s go Tubbo, we have work to do.” The fox growled, his glare piercing.

Tubbo let out a harsh sigh, ran a hand over his face, and walked with Fundy, Quackity casting him a worried look as he followed suit.

Tommy could only stand in the door frame for a few seconds, tears welling in his eyes. Those tears would not fall, he knew, until he was inside. He could only stare at the place Tubbo had been, the unsaid words filing the air: _useless, dead weight, burden, disappointment_.

He didn’t remember closing the door, or falling to the ground, or the tears and breathy gasps and sorries that he cried out, only the guilt that crushed his soul, making him want to cut his heart out to eliminate the pain, eliminate the heart ache, eliminate the damn _complications_.

He didn’t remember falling in his bead. He didn’t remember falling asleep. He didn’t remember much at all. The words were just too loud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PAIN MWAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA
> 
> Anyways uhh stay tuned for more PAIN :,)


	3. A New Friend (Will They Last?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the moment, he was just Tommy again. There wasn’t the fate of a nation on his shoulders, there wasn’t the burden of watching his insane brother, there wasn’t the tears building as he watched his best friend drift farther away from him, there wasn’t Dream manipulating him. He was just Tommy. 
> 
> Just 16 year old Tommy who had made a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyyy chapter pog champ
> 
> I picked this over my art homework, this is a genuine problem at this point.
> 
> Anyways, TOMMY AND RANBOO FRIENDSHIP POG!!

The sky was gray and hazy.

It only contributed to Tommy’s shitty, frustrated and sad mood as he woke, his eyes slowly cracking open as he groaned, wishing he could fall into the endless void of sleep again, rather than face the day and his shitty situation.

It’s not the end of the world, he knew that. Tubbo would forgive him (right?) and they’d proceed as normal, Tommy and Tubbo against the world. He had bounced back from much worse than his best friend (the only one he really had left at the moment) getting angry at him.

_So why did it hurt?_ Some fragile part of him, one he would vehemently deny ever having, whispered.

He didn’t have an answer.

He washed his face (tried tear tracks remained even after tears subsided,) and took a look at himself in the mirror, gripping the sink tightly. He knew he was the one in the wrong here, he had responsibilities, people were counting on him, he knew this. He didn’t want that, not really. He wanted to have fun, to live life semi-peacefully and have his discs, his best friend, and his brothers and father.

Seems he could only choose one.

A thought sparked, familiar and all to tantalizing: what if he ran away?

In the long run, he’d probably be happier. Less responsibility, less reminders of his failure, more time for himself, to breathe and live without fear of Dream and his cronies. Tommy knew it was a cowards way out, but there were only really a few options here: live the rest of his life in misery in the SMP with people breathing down his neck, die, or leave. His heart soared when he imagined a life he had built of his own, a certain freedom settling in his bones. He could almost taste it, that feeling so magical and oh so _free_.

Deep inside, he knew he could never get that here, not anymore anyways. Too much had happened, too much had tied him down.

He needed his discs though! ...did he?

The discs had been with him through thick and thin, but it’s obvious that Dream only wanted them for leverage over him. And what for anyways? Why did he want to hold it above Tommy’s head so much? For fun? Or for something more sinister? What could he be planning? Was it even worth it trying to get them back if they’d be causing him more harm then good?

His eyes almost began to tear up as he was brought back to his harsh reality by the smell of cooking meat. His eyebrows then furrowed-cooking meat? He wasn’t in the kitchen. _Who was in his house?!_

Tip toeing around the corner, he saw a familiar ghost, the sunken yet bright eyes sparkling as he levitated a cooked mutton and hummed a tune. The ghost of Wilbur Soot, his brother, was in his kitchen at—Tommy checked the clock on the wall—7 am, for whatever reason.

“W-Will?” Tommy asked hesitantly. His ghost brother had no need for food, so why was he cooking? And more importantly, why was he in Tommy’s house?

Wilbur’s humming stopped as he turned and saw Tommy. A small smile came across his face, and he said, “Morning. Just cooking, I wanted to give some food to everyone.”

Well, that answered one question. “And uh... you chose my house to cook in?”

“I figured you needed it. You seemed upset yesterday.”

“Oh... okay.” An awkward silence filled the room. Tommy slumped at his table, thanking Wilbur quietly when he levitated food his way. Wilbur, floating at one of the empty chairs, waited for more food to cook. Despite the chill in the air, Tommy was happy that _someone_ was at least there, even if he still flinched at Wilbur’s voice sometimes.

“I know I probably did some bad things to you, and I’m trying to make up for it. I don’t know really what’s happening with you right now, but I think I understand your feelings.” Wilbur said suddenly, causing Tommy to look up at him suddenly, his slumped position forfeited.

“What do you mean by that, exactly?” He questioned.

“Well...” The ghost faltered, a tentative silence remaining for a second. The ghost stroked his chin, seeming to wonder how to phrase his thoughts.

Tommy was about to drop the matter when he continued, “When you’re a ghost without much to do, you become more observant I guess. I heard about what happened yesterday with you and Tubbo, and I guess I understand the guilt around it, if that makes sense.”

Tommy remained silent for a second before giving a quiet, “Huh,” in response.

“Well, if you need me, I’ll be giving people food. See you later, Toms.”

Tommy startled at the old nickname, but Ghostbur was already gone, the air returning to normal temperature. Tommy groaned. Even after death, he was always doing shit like that, disappearing after saying something profound. _What a theater kid._

The mutton was good, at the very least.

Tommy wrote in the book: Woke up. Talked to Ghostbur. He made food in my house. Gave some to me. It was alright.

He had given up on trying to be aggressive in the book, and decided to just put as little effort as possible. That way, he didn’t have to think to hard about the situation at hand. And he didn’t piss off Fundy more than he needed to. (Not that he cared about that much, but Tubbo was already angry at him as it is.)

He tied his red bandanna around his neck and made his way out, walking with no destination in mind. He had done that a lot recently, just walking. He was restless, the war was filled with things to do, plans to make, resources to gather, but now he had much less to do, and more time to waste. He didn’t know whether to value or despise that, as his thoughts inevitably went back to Tubbo. 

Tubbo, his _best friend_ , was _angry_ at him. The thought of that made his breath catch. He wanted to do something, to fix it, but he didn’t know how. He was so distracted in his wallowing that he didn’t notice a black and white figure in front of him as he bumped into them.

“Tommy! Hey man, what’s wrong?” Ranboo, the new kid on the block. Tommy sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, saying, “Sorry for running into you, man’s distracted this morning.”

“It’s cool. You looked kinda down, everything ok?” The question sounded genuinely worried, causing Tommy to falter. He hadn’t been asked if he was ok in a long time, but _damn him if he’s going to break down in public over it_. Fighting back the lump in his throat he said, “Yeah. Head’s just full recently.”

“Well uh, I know I didn’t get a chance to thank you, but thanks for not throwing me under the bus over the whole robbery-...George situation. You could’ve pinned it all on me, but you took all the blame, you know- even though you probably shouldn’t have, and you don’t have to do that man- the point is, even if everyone else is angry at you man, I’m here for you if you need me.” Ranboo said, stumbling over his words a bit as he tried to phrase it well. Tommy stared at him in shock for a second, then gave a soft, genuine smile.

“Thanks, that’s uh-that means a lot.” He said, ignoring the tears building in his eyes.

After a moment of silence, Tommy let out a sigh, and puffed out his chest and said, “Alright, enough of the sappy shit!! Need any help from me man? Got nothing to do and I’m bored.”

“I was gonna go mining, if you wanna come?” Ranboo asked, tilting his head slightly as they walked the path.

“Oh yeah, I know a good place...” As the conversation with Ranboo went on, Tommy realized that talking to him came easily, with playful jabs and questions and ideas that they agreed they’d try at some point. As they walked, Tommy felt at ease, even _happy_ , for the first time in a good while. He hadn’t expected Ranboo to be this cool of a guy, or to stick with him, but he wasn’t unhappy about it.

For the moment, he was just Tommy again. There wasn’t the fate of a nation on his shoulders, there wasn’t the burden of watching his insane brother, there wasn’t the tears building as he watched his best friend drift farther away from him, there wasn’t Dream manipulating him. He was just Tommy. 

Just 16 year old Tommy who had made a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I gotta change the tags to Hurt some Comfort dang it. Oh well, it iz what it iz.
> 
> More chapters coming, this was me gushing over their friendship for the most part!!


	4. The Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy, Quackity, Fundy, and Tubbo talk. It goes about as well as you’d expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter because writers block and head hurty

Logically, he had no reason to be scared as he headed to the White House.

Tubbo is his best friend! And Fundy is another friend! There’s no reason for this amount of dread to form as he walked with the two books in his hand, completed and written with minimal swearing. After mining with Ranboo for a bit, he sat down and finished the book from yesterday, and the book for today, steeled himself, end got ready to face the disappointment from his friends. The shabbily bound, leather clad books weighed in his bag as he made the trek, the evening winding down to soft shades of reds and oranges in the sky painting the landscape in warm colors. 

Too quickly, the White House appeared in his view. Fighting down the urge to run in the opposite direction, he took out the books, zipped up his bag, and walked through the doors, wasting no time and heading to Fundy’s office. He knocked on the door, knowing there was no turning back now, as the fox hybrid opened the door, looking disgruntled. After seeing it was Tommy, he took the books and set them on his office desk. 

“Come on. Tubbo wants to see you.” He said, the coldness in his voice less apparent then yesterday, but still there, an undertone to the facade of an indifference. Tommy walked with him, all to aware of the tension in the air. Tubbo was always better at diffusing tension, Tommy cursed himself for not asking about how he did it. Fundy opened the double doors to Tubbo and Quackity, both standing in the office, stopping their conversation upon seeing Tommy.

A beat of silence. He couldn’t figure out how Tubbo felt. Quackity fidgeted. Fundy waited. Tommy glanced at all of them. The tension in the room was killing him.

“You wanted to see me?” Tommy said before he could stop himself. Tubbo sighed, sitting down at his desk, Quackity coming to stand next to him. Fundy stalked over to the corner, leaning on the wall. Tommy tentatively stepped forward, shutting the double doors behind him.

“He gave me the probation update from yesterday and from today Mr. President.” Fundy said, his tail swishing back and forth in apparent annoyance. Tubbo let out a sigh of relief, “That’s good, that’s good, and how well are they written?”

“They’re written just fine-” Tommy started, only to be cut off by Fundy, who said scathingly, “-They’re _mediocre_ at best, just plain aggressive at worst.”

Tubbo sighed again. (he did that a lot recently, Tommy noticed. Maybe it was just around him?)

“At least they’re written. That, in itself, is enough to open discussion for compromise with Dream.” Tubbo said in relief, folding his hands.

That’s what made Tommy talk.

“Compromise! Tubbo, you know Dream, he’s just going to demand more, he’s walking all over us!” Tommy couldn’t stop himself from exclaiming, the tension in the room reaching a boiling point.

“That’s enough Tommy! Can you look around for once, please?! There are other people living here, other people who deserve a life free of confinement and war!” Tubbo stood abruptly, slamming his hands on the desk, causing Tommy to flinch back, but not back down, because _Notch forbid_ Tommy back down from what he viewed as right.

Quackity, surprisingly, stepped in, “Tubbo, I get where you’re coming from, but Tommy is right here, at least a little. We can’t let Dream keep walking all over us like this!”

“No, no, no, stop! Just stop! This country has suffered enough violence! _Ender above_ , can we be in peace time for 5 minutes?! It feels like every time a war has been started, the root of it is you, Tommy! You pull shit then act like it only effects you when it DOESN’T! _You’re a face of this country_! Please, for once, ACT LIKE IT!” Tubbo ranted furiously, his anger blinding to the whole room.

Tommy could only stand blankly. The room was quiet. Fundy’s glare, Tubbo’s seething, and Quackity’s resigned expression all bore down on Tommy, leaving him crushed under an unknown, sickly weight. It took all his effort to not fall to his knees. Again, he found himself wanting to cut away the guilt, the pain, to _rip out his heart and tear at his skin_ so that the pain would disappear. Again, his hand itched to hold a blade, to have control in his hands, to be able to take out every little part of him that reeked of pure guilt.

The silence stretched on. Tubbo had drawn back a bit, anger turning into something Tommy couldn’t quite read (didn’t want to read, didn’t want to see regret in words he knew were true.) Quackity fidgeted subtlety, likely unsure of how to diffuse the situation. Fundy remained in his corner, fox eyes narrowed into slits. Tommy did not move.

Eventually, Fundy spoke up. “We’ll continue this conversation at a later date. It’s getting dark, mobs will spawn soon.”

Wordlessly, Tommy left the office, and walked out of the building, the corners of his lips half heartedly quirking upwards at Quackity’s small wave as he, Fundy and Tubbo parted ways with Tommy, the guilt ridden boy unable to muster up the energy for much else. Quietly, he made his way back to his base and flopped down, too tired for much else but sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spare motivation? Spare motivation sir/ma’am/them/neo-pronoun user? Please?


	5. Interlude I: The Foxes Envy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (I’m gonna give c!Fundy, c!Tubbo, and maybe c!Quackity and c!Ranboo and Interlude, but for the most part this fic is c!Tommy-centric, because I relate to him most.)
> 
> Jealousy ate at a foxes heart, and what did that do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I’d finish it I said I would I can do it :,)

Fundy liked to believe he was a pretty reasonable, understanding person. He wasn’t too prone to being upset (aside from the furry remarks, and the occasional war that got him riled up.) He knew how to control his temper for the most part, and was great with negotiating and finding the right words to trick his enemy with a sly grin.

Jealousy, however, was a beast on its own.

The fox-hybrid hated it. He couldn’t stand how Wilbur _always_ chose Tommy over him, how he wasn’t Wilbur’s right hand man, how he was treated like a child when Tommy was cast into the lime light, it made his usually sharp, striking face twist into a wrathful, wicked glare. It was _always Tommy_.

And _why_? Why would he choose Tommy? He was reckless, loud, and frankly terrible at being a leader. He neglected his duties, he provoked people at every turn, and he always got himself into some sort of mess. Could he not see that Fundy, his son, _born bred and raised for leadership_ , was better for the position?

That’s why he ran against him. He knew he’d have to do something outlandish to get his dear fathers attention, to see that pride in his eyes that he always had to spare for the “golden child” (Fundy nearly seethed when he saw them sitting and discussing the election together, when it could’ve, _should’ve_ been him next to Wil.)

And then, Schlatt got into power. He secretly spied for Wilbur, knowing this was his chance. His chance to get that pride, to get his fathers appreciation. Did he make sacrifices along the way? Absolutely. Did he not inform his father til the end out of the _slight spite_ he still felt? Perhaps. But hearing his father disown him completely broke something deep inside him.

That hurt built and built and somehow he found reasons and reasons that Tommy was to blame. He always was, wasn’t he? Always managing to screw up. He felt a sick satisfaction, finally having reason to berate him. After all, he deserved it, didn’t he? Even Tubbo agreed.

Somewhere, deep down, he knew it wouldn’t stop the hurt. Fundy knew it was only a matter of time until he went too far. But he couldn’t stop, Tommy was just always there, always the center of attention.

Fundy realized at some point that he wanted to be Tommy. Maybe then, he’d be taken a little seriously. Maybe then, his father would look at him with pride.

Maybe then, he wouldn’t have to fight to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH I TRIED
> 
> THIS HURT TO WRITE BECAUSE I RELATE TO C!FUNDY AND C!TOMMY AT THE SAME TIME AGH


	6. Interlude II: A Ducks Folly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (AYYYY BIG Q CHAPTER POG
> 
> It’ll obviously be angst. But. AYYY)
> 
> Maybe he should’ve fought harder. But the duck-hybrid just didn’t know how to help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quackity’s energy is immaculate let’s be real here.

Quackity thought Tommy was an alright kid.

He had a lot on his shoulders, yeah. He always seemed to be in a war of some sort, fighting endlessly for one thing or another. Quackity knew that Tommy could rally a crowd, no matter how flimsy the cause. The kid has a big personality, and sometimes it got him in trouble.

Quackity knew why Schlatt exiled him and Wilbur. They both would’ve put up a fight for power if they stayed. Was exile a bit much? Sure. But he understood it. It took a while to see Schlatt as a bad person, too long.

The ram-hybrids taunts ran through his head constantly. Berating him for not taking immediate action, calling him a _pussy_ for not shooting him immediately, the way his name was said. It took so much willpower to pull the trigger, to snap out of his frozen haze and act.

That seemed to happen a lot. He seemed to freeze at the _worst fucking times_ , didn’t he?

When Tubbo yelled at Tommy, when Tommy so clearly was confused and tired and upset, as Tubbo yelled accusations and Fundy gave an almost evil grin, like he was happy to see Tommy so beaten down, he felt frozen. He recognized that feeling in Tommy’s eyes, of barely holding back from crying, from screaming out, from letting the walls down, and just freezing and watching, eyes wide as saucers.   


Quackity felt just as frozen.   
  


The duck hybrid didn’t know what to say though. He couldn’t comfort people, he was better with planning revenge and joking around. He felt almost sick, leaving Tommy alone that day. But what could he do?

It would all work out. Tommy would come to him if he needed help.

...that thought would help him swallow down the guilt as he walked away from Tommy, throwing himself into revenge plans and decrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYYY TWO UPDATES IN THE SAME NIGHT? I CANNOT BE STOPPED IM TOO POWERFUL

**Author's Note:**

> Spain without the S, am I right chat?


End file.
